Knee Deep
by Tiruneko
Summary: "The Queen", the most infamous serial killer maybe in all of existence. Her identity is unknown, but at every gruesome tableau of a crime scene, her signature queen of hearts playing card, poker chip, and dart are left. This nightmare of a psychopath in the making has been dubbed a walking death sentence. This girl, the very manifestation of hate can never be saved, right?


** .KNEE DEEP.  
**

**oNe  
**

Framed by the blackness of the night, highlighted by the swirling starless infinity, the silhouette moves, white moonlight clinging to their form like phosphorescent lace. The figure lurches forward and disappears out of sight just as quickly as it had come. Blending in with the crowd on the streets, the ink black of the night envelopes the small figure, now the blurry splotches of neon city light dotting the city scape. Steady feet hit the pavement with little more than silence. A large group of people, all heading to unknown places with unknown ways break apart at an intersection and the figure blends in seamlessly.

The hooded figure, clad in dark, loose fitting clothes, lifts their head. Feathery strands of blonde hair emerge from out of the lip of the hood. A girl with icy cold, crystal deep, blue eyes glares at the city, luscious pale pink lips peeled into a slight smirk at the night city. A heavy backpack with too long straps thuds against her thighs as she walks to the other side of the road.

Static chirps in her ears. "_That one." _The voice is strong, unwavering, and male.

The girl nods out into the dark, piercing eyes finding the target. A tall man with broad shoulders and thin extremities is leaning against the wall of an alley, hands crammed in the pockets of his heavy dark brown trench coat. Deep blue hair sticky with sweat hangs in the light from the buildings above, utterly unaware cattle buzzing about their lives inside.

The girl scoffs at the man's outfit and thinks, "how lame" to herself. Her boots lined with many buckles rattle against the pavement as she cuts across to the alley where the man has perched himself seamlessly, not standing out in the littlest.

She comes to a stop in front of the man who raises an eyebrow. Gloved fingers clench against the hilt of something buried in the deep pockets of the girl's thick and oversized black jacket.

"Listen, kid, get out of here." His voice is irregularly high pitched for a grown man. The figure says nothing and shifts on their feet, bouncing, nearly seething with a calculated coldness untraceable to all. "Kid… wait… are you my contact?" His eyes are hollow and full of stress.

The girl doesn't lift her head, but nods, distinct enough to see. The man gulps and shifts uncomfortably.

"_He believes us to have his wife. The fool." _The voice in her ear mirrors her own thoughts. "_When in reality… she's fled the country. Some island paradise… she was having an affair, perhaps. The fool can't see what's clearly in front of him. He's a perfect candidate, don't you think?_"

The girl turns and exits the alley. The man follows unsteadily, clearly about to jump out of his skin. The girl scoffs under her breath. Within a few minutes the two have walked out of the main hustle-and-bustle night of the metropolis and out into the slums on the outskirts of the downtown night scape. A house with yellowing and chipping paint awaits with its old and worn brown trim. The girl's office.

She places a hand on the chain link gate to the yard with moist, green grass and pushes it open with ease. The man follows behind. Her boots thump against the hollow wood of the porch and she reaches down the collar of her jacket, drawing a chain from which a shining red key dangles. The old door opens slowly and the girl steps aside. The weary blue haired man enters first. The girl steps into the foyer and flips a total of twelve locks ranging from deadbolts to chains running down the side of the door.

Once done, a metallic clicking sounds behind her. Oh that wonderful, glorious sound. The girl turns slowly, face still entirely concealed.

The blue haired man holds a gun in shaky hands, aimed just at the girl's head. She stares, unwavering and not even slightly fazed, almost as if she had anticipated the move.

"_I know what you're thinking." _The voice sounds again. _"No, he's not a card worth keeping in your deck, _our _deck. Discard." _

"Give me my wife!" The man shouts. The figure steps forward. The man tightens his grip. "Don't move!" The girl sighs inaudibly and steps forward. Sweating profusely, the man staggers back. His entire demeanor is pathetically weak. He handles a gun like a child and his fear is palpable and thick. His determination is weak and his faults are written plainly in his eyes. He won't shoot.

Because he is _weak. _

The girl launches forward and before the man can even blink a brutal pain smashes through his head and he falls backwards, smashing into the ground, his eyes now heavy. Within moments he blinks out of consciousness.

She bends and picks up his gun, setting it on a stand by the front door. The girl grabs the man by his ankles and drags him across the shining wood floors to a door under the staircase. She pulls the door open and pulls the man down the entire flight until they stand in a dark basement with concrete floors.

An iron pole is welded from the floor to the ceiling, completely immovable. A pair of handcuffs is awaiting and the girl cuffs both of the man's wrists around the pole, leaving his unmoving body on the cold ground.

Dirt caked fingernails flick a switch and one yellowing light blinks slowly to life, shrouding the room in its warm light. The girl moves over to a crude laundry sink by a steel tool cart on wheels. Above the sink is a cupboard and beside it is a hook. The girl pulls her hood off, revealing a cropped and choppy mess of chin length golden blonde hair.

Unruly bangs are held back by four white clips and a lopsided and filthy bow is on top of her head. Her frame is incredibly frail looking and her eyes spit fire. A small scar is hidden on the side of her nose, just under the cornea of her right eye. She pulls the earpiece from her right ear and sets it on top of the cart. She pulls on a thick pair of leather gloves and moves forward towards the uncouncious man.

The blonde girl bends and digs in the man's pockets, pulling out a worn brown wallet and a set of three keys. One car, the other two presumably house keys. The girl mutters something under her breath along the lines of, "pathetic".

She slides a driver's license out of the wallet and studies the name. Kaito Shion. The girl removes the three thousand and five hundred dollars cash from the crumpled plastic bag. Collecting the meager belongings and cash in her hands, the girl trudges up the stairs and steps back out into the narrow hallway.

She moves into a kitchen with old appliances and crosses into the living room where a fireplace framed in white bricks sits calling her. In a few moments a fire blazes and she tosses the wallet inside, putting the keys on her kitchen counter beside a massive ceramic bowl filled to the brim with many different keys, all from different victims.

After the wallet has been reduced to ash, the girl moves away to let it smolder. She pulls open a drawer on a desk in the far back corner of the sitting room and draws out a strip of white adhesive labels and a red pen. She marks the date down on the tag and rubber bands the three keys together. Before dropping them into the bowl she sticks the tag down on them and exits back into her basement where the man is now awake. And whimpering.

"Where is she?" He sobs.

The girl passes him, not sparing him a glance, and stops at the tool cart. She pulls out a long and slender blade with a red handle and a playing card with an ornate pattern of red designs on the back side. She walks back over to the man and stands over his sniveling form.

"You're… you're just a little girl! A child! Where is she!" He screams. The basement is sound proof, and the girl writes it off. Her lips spread into a wicked grin. She begins to cackle, white bow on her head bouncing.

"Y-you pathetic fool of a man!" She shouts at him between laughs, flicking a tear out of her eye. "But seriously, though. Have you figured it out yet?" Her blade glints in the light of the bulb as she turns it over in her gloved fingers.

"W-what?" The blonde girl can feel the fear in his voice. Her grin broadens.

With a sigh, she throws her hand out to her side, gesticulating at him as she speaks. "Gosh, my bad, _dummy. _We _never _had your wife for a second! She was having an affair with you, genius. I was able to play off of your desperation. You immediately jumped to the wild conclusion that she was kidnapped and being held for ransom, when really, she just when to Fiji with her boyfriend!" The girl cackles. "I pitched my scheme to my 'boss', really, he's more of a mentor, and get this, he loved it! So, I contacted you with a fake ransom note from your wife's 'kidnapers' asking for some random sum of money and a location for you to meet me. I can't believe you thought I was the 'low profile character' that was send to lead you to your precious wife. Hah!" She shouts loudly at the end, making the man jump and flinch.

"T-then, w-why do you want me…?" His voice itself shudders.

The girl pauses. "Would it be inhumane to say… boredom?"

"Who are you?!" The man screams, tears burning his eyes as he tugs at his handcuffs, a desperate last attempt for escape.

The girl tosses the playing card down at his feet, landing it skill fully right side up. He bends over and stares at it, his blood chilling. A Queen of hearts stares up at him.

"I'm The Queen." The blade flies down through the air and the man's last scream pierces through the night air.

A little time later the girl leans against her kitchen counter, watching a particularly large fire rage in her brick fireplace. Beside the fire are about nine more black trash bags, damp with a deep red substance that smells metallic, sickeningly so.

The girl, now dressed in a light pink spaghetti strap night gown, saunters around her kitchen, some kind of orange-spice tea in her hand, her black earpiece back in her ear. A complacent grin is on her face as she hums a tune.

"The feeling after a kill", the girl thinks to herself, "there's nothing like it."

After the fire has long burned down all of the things necessary, the girl finds herself passing a crime scene sectioned off with yellow tape in an alley. A wall is doused in blood and a playing card is held in the center by a black dart with a small poker chip on the end. In the center of the poker chip is a skull and crossbones and, directly below, sitting on the ground, is a disembodied head with blue hair and crudely drawn hearts painted on its cheeks.

A detective with ghastly long teal blue hair turns to a man standing beside her.

"It definitely looks like it to me."

"Really?" The man asks.

"Yes… I think this is the work of The Queen."


End file.
